


His First Promise

by jankmusic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, Companion Piece to Her Final Goodbye, Drama, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, cat death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jankmusic/pseuds/jankmusic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes wasn’t making a new vow; instead, he was making his first promise that he fully intended to keep: keep Molly Hooper safe at whatever cost. [Spoilers for Season Three & Companion Piece to Her Final Goodbye]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to Her Final Goodbye. Doesn't have to be read to understand this story!

Sherlock Holmes was irritated.

 

“Why does England need me now? I’ve committed treason; I hardly think the Queen wants me anywhere on this bloody island.” He stood up from his seat as the plane landed and waited impatiently as the sole stewardess opened the door.

 

He climbed down the stairs, his eyes on John, Mary, and Mycroft, who were all standing together near his car. He sped up his pace as he saw the look of concern on John’s face, running the short distance until he stood beside his friend.

 

“What is it?” he snapped, when no one said anything.

 

“I can’t believe it,” John mumbled, and his brow furrowed in confusion. Sherlock looked from John to Mary, and finally at Mycroft.

 

“What can’t you believe?” Sherlock asked, looking back at John.

 

“He’s back.”

 

“Who?”

 

“James Moriarty.”

 

For a moment, Sherlock thought they were playing some kind of trick on him. He looked amongst the three people who he was surrounded by, fighting down laughter. When no one smirked or giggled, he shook his head. “No he’s not. I watched him shoot himself in the head.”

 

“It looks like the man was cleverer than you thought.” Mycroft held out his phone and Sherlock took it without a word, watching the small image of James Moriarty with _“Did you miss me?”_ playing demonically in the background. He only stared at it a moment, his mind failing to process what he was seeing.

 

And then a cold shiver ran down his spine. “Molly…” he breathed. He had only said his goodbyes a few hours beforehand, but he desperately needed to reassure himself that she was alright.

 

“What?” Mary asked. She watched as John’s eyes narrowed in confusion, and then widened in sudden understanding and horror. Mary didn’t understand why they were afraid.

 

“Where is Molly Hooper?” Sherlock looked at his brother, knowing that he would have kept tabs on her, especially in her emotional state that she left in earlier that morning.

 

Mycroft took his phone back. “She should be at home,” he said, scrolling through his phone, searching through his contacts. Sherlock had an inkling that Mycroft was going to call the men who were assigned to his pathologist that day. “I will raise her security accordingly.”

 

Sherlock nodded his head once in agreement towards Mycroft. “Come on, we have to go!” He pivoted and ran towards Mary’s car. “She could already be in danger!”

 

He got there first and tore open the driver’s side door, pushing the seat back as far as it could go. After a moment, John appeared and Mary was a bit behind him, breathless. She hesitated outside the car for a moment before climbing into the backseat, where it was safer for her in her pregnant state; if Sherlock was driving, she was assuming he was going to drive like a maniac.

 

Sherlock snatched the keys from Mary and shoved them in the ignition.

 

And then he was speeding off the runway.

 

“Why are we in a rush?” Mary asked, hurriedly putting on her seatbelt. “Not that Molly’s safety isn’t important—but why is she in jeopardy?”

 

“Moriarty dated her so he could get closer to Sherlock,” John said, turning around in his seat to look at his wife. “She broke it off with him and then helped Sherlock fake his death. If Moriarty has any idea that Molly was involved, she is in grave danger.”

 

“If it’s even Moriarty,” Sherlock grumbled. “Anyone can manipulate an image, and that voice was hardly human. But yes, John is right. Molly Hooper is in very grave danger.”

 

\-----

 

Molly Hooper stood frozen to the spot, unable to look away from the computer screen in the lab.

 

_“Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?”_

 

Her blood ran cold and she felt her legs begin to tremble. She stumbled backwards and latched onto the lab bench behind her.

 

_“Did you miss me?”_

 

“Oh God!” she groaned, closing her eyes and trying to ignore the taunting sound of James Moriarty. She took several deep breaths and pulled herself together. Just because her New Year started off on the wrong foot with saying goodbye to Sherlock didn’t mean it had to keep plummeting.

 

She jumped and whimpered when she felt a vibration in her pocket and she reached for her phone with trembling hands. She couldn’t help but imagine Moriarty calling her even though she changed her phone number right after she found out that he was a criminal mastermind. She clutched it tightly in her hand for a moment, before looking at the caller ID. A wave of relief flooded her at the sight of Greg Lestrade’s name on the screen. Then she answered his call. “H-Hello?”

 

“Where. Are. You?” he growled out. “You’re supposed to be in your flat.”

 

“W-work,” she stuttered. She cleared her throat, which suddenly seemed too dry, and a piece of her was curious as to why Lestrade knew where she was and wasn’t supposed to be. “I’m in the lab, covering a shift for Mike.”

 

“I’ll be there in two minutes. Do not leave the lab.”

 

“O-okay.”

 

Molly hung up and slid her phone into her pocket. Then she shakily began cleaning up the sample she had been working on. By the time Lestrade burst into the lab, her hands were a bit steadier and she was feeling better.

 

Molly looked at Lestrade, and she couldn’t help but shudder at the look of anger flashing in his eyes. He wasn’t dressed in his usual suit and tie, which meant he was off duty, but his gun was displayed prominently on his hip and he looked altogether a bit too dangerous.

 

“You’re going in my protective custody. Don’t worry about work, it’s being taken care of.” He paused for a second to look around the lab. Then he lowered his voice to barely above a whisper and said, “I’m taking you home and you need to pack a bag and get your cat, and then you’re going somewhere safe for the time being.”

 

Molly nodded her head, not arguing. She led the way out of the lab and towards the ladies locker room, aware of the protective hand Lestrade had on the small of her back and the tension he was holding in his upper body.

 

“Am I in danger?” she whispered, after getting her purse and exchanging her lab coat for her heavier winter coat.

 

“I think so.”

 

“And where are we going?” Molly asked. Lestrade didn’t answer until they were safely out of St. Bart’s and in his car.

 

“Baker Street.”

 

Molly didn’t have it in her to protest; she wasn’t sure if she could physically stand being in the same space as Sherlock’s belongings, with the knowledge that the man she was in love with was on a suicide mission in Eastern Europe.

 

\-----

 

Lestrade didn’t say a word as he led the way to Molly’s flat, her keys tightly in his fist. He unlocked her door and opened it, doing a cursory sweep of the flat. Confident that no one was there, he opened the door wider and allowed Molly to step through.

 

A few steps into the flat, Molly knew something was wrong. Toby _ALWAYS_ met her at the door, crying and purring for attention and food.

 

Her cat was nowhere in sight.

 

Molly hesitated in the hallway, scared to move further into the flat. “What’s wrong?” Lestrade asked.

 

Molly didn’t say anything, just moving silently through her small flat. She saw that her bedroom door was shut, and she felt a bit of the tension release from her body. “I must have locked Toby in my room this morning.”

 

Lestrade paused near her sofa, one hand resting on his gun. “Go ahead and pack a bag. Clothes, toiletries, anything you might need for a few days. Mycroft Holmes said you’ll have access to everything in the flat, so don’t worry about food.”

 

“Right,” Molly murmured. She walked down the hallway that led from her sitting room to the bedrooms and bathroom. She opened the door to her bedroom and flicked on her light.

 

Then she screamed in horror at the sight in front of her.

 

\-----

 

“Oh, my God.”

 

“What?” Sherlock snapped.

 

“Go to Baker Street. Right now. Jesus!” They were on their way to Molly’s flat, under the impression that she was still there. Sherlock deduced that because of the emotional state she was in earlier, she would either be sleeping in her bed, or cocooned in her duvet on the sofa.

 

“What is it, John?” Mary asked from the backseat.

 

Sherlock watched as John fumbled with his phone, and then he held the device up. Sherlock glanced at the photograph and felt his heart stop.

 

The all too familiar “Get Sherlock” with the crude smiley face in the ‘o’ was painted on a wall in red. He recognized the wardrobe beside the writing as Molly’s. “Tell me that’s paint,” he said, surprised when his voice cracked. In his mind, he imagined Molly Hooper’s lifeless body on her bed, and the idea made him sick. He cleared his throat and glanced at John from the corner of his eye before staring straight ahead at the road, trying to calculate the fastest route to Molly’s flat. If she was hurt or dead, he was going to kill whoever did this to her.

 

“No. It’s blood from Molly’s cat. Lestrade has taken her to Baker Street per Mycroft’s request. We need to go there.”

 

\-----

 

Sherlock slammed on the brakes and hardly had the car off before he was jumping out of the vehicle. He saw Lestrade’s car parked in front of his flat and he wasted no time in slamming the front door of 221B open and climbing the stairs two at a time.

 

He ran into his sitting room, not taking in anything other than Molly Hooper, who was curled up in his seat. She was staring unblinkingly forward, and Sherlock dropped down to his knees in front of her. For a moment there was thick silence, and then she blinked once before looking at him. He leaned forward, invading her space, blocking out everything behind him. “They set you free because someone murdered my cat?” she asked weakly, slowly reaching out and cupping his cheek.

 

“Don’t be obtuse, Molly,” he growled, resting his hand over the one on his face. “I’m free because there is a threat to England, and I’m _here_ because someone hurt you.”

 

“I’m fine, really.” She tried to pull away, but Sherlock refused to let her go.

 

“You loved Toby. I understand what it’s like to lose a beloved pet.” He took a deep breath and then added, “I’m sorry.” He saw the tears well up in her eyes, but none fell. Even though she was hurting, she was trying so hard to be strong. “You’re staying here until the threat is taken care of, understand?” he asked. Molly nodded her head and didn’t dispute his statement. Sherlock had a feeling that his pathologist didn’t want to return to her flat in its current state. “For now, you can sleep in my bed.”

 

“Just like old times?” she asked. Sherlock could tell that she was thinking of all the times he had commandeered her bedroom while using her flat as a bolt-hole. The small quirk of her lips sent a flood of relief through him. He nodded his head and cradled her face in his hands. Then he leaned forward and captured her mouth in a gentle kiss. The resounding gasps that echoed around him didn’t go unnoticed but he was more focused on Molly and what she needed. He pulled away from the kiss slowly, but held still when Molly pressed her face against his shoulder.

 

“I thought I was never going to see you again,” she whispered, clutching his coat.

 

“I believe that idea can be deleted now. I’m certain I’m here to stay.”

 

“Okay,” Molly whispered, tightening her hold on him. “Okay.” She took a shuddering breath and tried to pull away from Sherlock’s embrace, but he held steadfast.

 

“You’re in a bit of shock.”

 

“I could be.”

 

“What do you need?”

 

Molly hesitated for a moment, and then she shook her head. “I don’t know.” The sound of uncertainty was like a punch to his gut, the fear evident in her voice. At points of stress, Molly Hooper always held her sanity and kept him grounded; he had to do his best to be her anchor. “I don’t know what’s happening or if I’m in danger and I don’t want him to be back, Sherlock.” Her voice raised in pitch as she finished her statement, her teeth clamping down on her bottom lip. “I really don’t want him to be back.”

 

“Nothing will happen to you,” Sherlock said, finally releasing his tight hold on her. He shifted a bit on his knees to relieve the pressure and eyed Molly seriously. He then grasped Molly’s hands in his own. “I promise."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exploring the crime scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always! :)

His First Promise

 

Summary: Sherlock Holmes wasn’t making a new vow; instead, he was making his first promise that he fully intended to keep: keep Molly Hooper safe at whatever cost. [Spoilers for Season Three & Companion Piece to Her Final Goodbye]

 

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

 

\-----

 

“Where are you going?”

 

Sherlock turned slowly to look at the people standing behind him. John, Mary, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson all looked bewildered.

 

“I’m going to Molly’s flat.”

 

“Not alone!” John barked, taking a step forward. “And you have some explaining to do. What was that? Kissing Molly? Sherlock, she’s in shock! You can’t go around and—and—”

 

“What occurs between Molly and I is none of your concern,” Sherlock snapped. That was exactly the wrong thing to say to John Watson, and he deflated a bit. After a moment of tense silence, Sherlock strode back into the living room and dropped into the chair. “Yesterday, I said goodbye to Molly. I was under the impression that I was never going to see her again, so I made it clear that her feelings for me were returned.”

 

“What?”

 

“I told her that I loved her,” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. “I can’t say it any simpler.”

 

He was met with silence, and he looked up to see John and Mrs. Hudson looking bewildered, Mary chewing her lip worriedly, and Lestrade glaring at him. Of all the reactions, anger from the Detective Inspector was not what he was expecting.

 

“You better not be pulling her along like you did that Janine woman. Molly cares for you so deeply, and you saying that just to appease her—”

 

“Believe me, _Greg_ ,” Sherlock said, a hint of a growl in his voice, “My feelings for Molly Hooper are infinitely more genuine than what I felt for Janine. It was a case with her, but Molly Hooper isn’t a case; she is the one who matters the most.”

 

Sherlock and Lestrade locked gazes for several long moments before they were interrupted by a sniffle.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Mary said, wiping at her eyes. “Hormones, you know.”

 

John wrapped his arms comfortingly around Mary, giving her a squeeze. “Right. So what about Molly?”

 

“She’s resting now,” Sherlock said, waving a hand towards his bedroom. “She didn’t pack a bag, so I feel that I should retrieve a few of her belongings before she wakes.”

 

“Alright, I’m coming with you,” Lestrade said firmly.

 

“Fine.”

 

“Me too!” John declared.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and then eyed Mary. “Are you coming too?”

 

“No thank you. I’ll stay here. Check for cameras and help Mrs. Hudson with lunch.”

 

“Thank you dear,” Mrs. Hudson said, patting Mary on the shoulder. “I’ll be downstairs. Should I be expecting more guests, Sherlock?”

 

“Just Mycroft, and he’s hardly considered a guest.” Sherlock stood up and smoothed his hands down his coat. “Are we all sorted now? Great. Let’s go.”

 

\-----

 

“You’re not just getting her a bag, are you?” John whispered, peering up and down the hallway as Sherlock picked the lock on her front door. She had neighbors next door and across the hall, and he didn’t want them to call the police.

 

“Correct.” He opened the door and stepped in, followed by John and then Lestrade. “Did you see anything suspicious when you first arrived?” Sherlock asked, pausing just past the doorway.

 

“No. And I did a cursory sweep of the flat before I let her in. She went straight to her bedroom and found her cat. We left immediately after.”

 

“Right.” Sherlock pointed to a cupboard to his left. “John, she keeps her luggage in that cupboard. Grab a suitcase and get whatever she might need from her bathroom. Make sure you grab some of her supplies from beneath the sink; she’ll need them in two days.”

 

With that, Sherlock strode straight to Molly’s bedroom. The bedroom door was closed firmly, and he took a deep breath before opening it; he got along well with Toby and never wished harm to come towards the cat.

 

He turned on the light and stared at the vandalized wall. For the moment he ignored the body of her cat, instead studying the wall intently.

 

It took him hardly three seconds to determine that the writing on the wall was not written by Moriarty; it was easy to fake handwriting, but there were some tells in this replica. For one, the “S” had more of slant than what Moriarty typically wrote, and the most obvious was the unnecessary loop in the “R”.

 

Someone was trying to frighten her, but they were failing.

 

And even worse, they targeted someone who didn’t deserve it. Sherlock was determined to find whoever this Moriarty imitator was and teach them several valuable lessons about messing with things that weren’t theirs.

 

After sorting his newly acquired knowledge about the perpetrator ( _early thirties, male, right handed, minor in art, recent breakup_ ), he turned his attention to Toby on Molly’s bed. He removed his leather gloves and then put on a pair of rubber gloves that he frequently kept in his pockets.

 

He approached slowly and knelt down, reaching beneath the bed. He knew Molly purchased a new pair of boots and the shoebox was beneath her bed. It should have been big enough to fit the deceased cat.

 

He emptied the boots onto the floor and then placed the box on the bed. He carefully picked up the cat and paused for a moment. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, sniffing the cat. Then he placed him in the box. He picked up the small throw blanket at the foot of her bed and folded it before covering Toby; that blanket had been Toby’s favorite.

 

“Sherlock? Did you find anything?”

 

Sherlock placed the lid on the box and then stood up. He ripped off the rubber gloves and dropped them carelessly on the floor before stepping out of the room and meeting with Lestrade and John. John had one small bag filled with her toiletries and an empty duffle on his shoulder.

 

“It wasn’t Moriarty,” Sherlock said.

 

“What the hell is happening?” Lestrade stepped out of her kitchen, his hands on his hips.

 

“It seems Molly is the victim of an elaborate plan.” He whipped out his mobile and began texting Mycroft. “And I have a feeling a bit of it has something to do with her recent…broken engagement. Mycroft will have to check the CCTV cameras but I’m certain _Tom_ ,” he said with disdain, “will be incarcerated before the end of the day.”

 

“T-Tom?” John spluttered. “He could hardly hurt a fly, let alone a cat…”

 

“The cat was already dead.” Sherlock took a moment to glance back to Molly’s bedroom. “It’s easy to conclude that someone paid him to commit this vandalism, and they supplied him with poison to kill Toby before using him as…paint.”

 

“How did you manage to come to that conclusion?”

 

“Easy. The handwriting, albeit similar to Moriarty’s, is not the same. I’ve seen Tom’s handwriting on cards in Molly’s office and the “S” and “R” are identical. You can have a forensic graphologist compare the writing, but I believe my opinion is good enough. With Tom’s minor in art, he was more than capable of mimicking the handwriting.”

 

“Right,” Lestrade said with a sigh. “Should I call the police then?”

 

“No. I’ve already disturbed the crime scene. Mycroft will take care of it.”

 

Sherlock went to John and plucked the duffle bag from his shoulder. “I’ll pack her clothing. Just because the vandal has been identified doesn’t mean Molly is in any less danger.”

 

With that, Sherlock strode back to Molly’s bedroom, eager to get out of the flat and return to his pathologist.

 

\-----

 

When Sherlock, John, and Lestrade returned to Baker Street, Sherlock made a detour to the small garden behind the flat while the other two carried the bags and went upstairs. Using a shovel Mrs. Hudson kept in a small cupboard near her door, he dug an adequate sized hole for the box. He buried Toby and placed a small potted plant near his grave as a makeshift tombstone.

 

He washed his hands in Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen before making his way upstairs.

 

Lestrade was sitting on the sofa, a plate with a sandwich and crisps balanced on his knee. His eyes swept around the room and he saw John, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson huddled together in the kitchen. He went to them and leaned against the door jam.

 

“You just missed Mycroft,” Mary commented, turning from John and Mrs. Hudson to Sherlock. “I found four cameras altogether in the flat, but Mycroft said they were all his after your…drug den incident. He dismantled all of them but the one by the front door.”

 

“Is he trying to see who comes in and out?”

 

“Yes. And I didn’t go into your bedroom because Molly.”

 

“Is she still sleeping?” Sherlock looked down the hallway towards his bedroom. Right after his surprising return to the flat and his promise to Molly, he helped her to his bedroom and told her to rest.

 

“Yes. I think she fell asleep the second her head hit the pillow.” Mary turned back towards John, and he offered her a plate. She kissed him on the cheek and then made her way to the living room.

 

John eyed Sherlock warily for a moment, and then he leaned against the counter. “Tom has been arrested.”

 

“I expected that much. It’s disappointing Mycroft didn’t stay until we returned.”

 

John chuckled lightly and smoothed a hand over his face before rubbing his eyes. Sherlock hesitated a moment before pushing himself away from the door walking to John. He placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. “I won’t let anything happen to Mary.”

 

John exhaled noisily through his nose and looked at Sherlock with narrowed eyes. “And you’re going to keep Molly safe, and Lestrade, and me, and Mrs. Hudson? Who’s going to look after you? I feel as if that’s the whole plan; keep you occupied with keeping everyone safe and then Moriarty or whoever it is will strike when you’re most vulnerable.”

 

“I won’t be vulnerable.” Sherlock said, dropping his hand.

 

John snorted. “Love changes things.”

 

Sherlock stiffened and took a step away. “Are you suggesting I should cut my emotional ties to Molly Hooper, because I firmly disagree.” He was about to turn away when John reached for his sleeve, tugging him back.

 

“Of course I’m not saying that, you git. You just need to be prepared for her to be a target now, which you obviously are aware of, what am I saying?” He dropped Sherlock’s sleeve and once again rubbed his tired eyes.

 

“You should go home.” John looked at Sherlock incredulously, but before he could say anything, Sherlock said, “We can’t do anything right now. There are too many pieces of the puzzle missing. Once Mycroft interrogates Tom we might have more information. Do you and Mary want to stay here?”

 

“No,” John said, shaking his head for emphasis. “Mary is hardly getting any sleep as is and our bed is huge. If we go back to the bed upstairs, she’ll get maybe a few minutes of sleep.”

 

“Right.” Sherlock turned to look at Mary. She was leaning back on the sofa, using her protruding belly as a makeshift table. “Well, regardless, Mycroft has assigned men to you and Lestrade, so you’ll be safe.” He turned back to John and he nodded his head.

 

“I’m not too worried about us. I’m more concerned about Molly, to be honest.”

 

“I am too.”

 

“But everything will be fine. Now let’s eat lunch, and we’ll brainstorm over the information you gathered today.”

 

\-----

 

Sherlock sat down on the steps leading out to Mrs. Hudson’s garden, keeping a sharp eye on Molly. It was dark outside, but Molly insisted on saying her goodbyes to Toby properly before turning in for the night. He watched as she knelt down by his grave and he tried not to react to the sounds of her crying softly.

 

Getting distracted by her emotional turmoil would ruin his concentration on keeping her safe.

 

He stayed out there for some time, not commenting as time slipped by; he knew what it was like to say goodbye to a pet.

 

Eventually, Molly stood up and dusted off her knees. She made her way back to Sherlock and sat down beside him in the doorway.

 

“Thank you for taking care of him,” she whispered.

 

“He deserved at least that,” Sherlock said, gently reaching over and taking her hand in his. “I am sorry.”

 

“I know.” Molly leaned her head on his shoulder and Sherlock found himself fighting the urge to kiss her forehead. _Not outside where people can see._ He gave her hand a squeeze instead and said,

 

“Are you tired?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Let’s go, then.”

 

The two made their way back inside, Sherlock locking the door firmly. Mrs. Hudson had long since retired to bed, and Sherlock took a moment to make sure all of her windows were locked before following Molly upstairs to his flat.

 

As Molly was in the shower, Sherlock carefully went through his wardrobe, clearing out two drawers for Molly before moving to his closet and taking down a few of his less worn suits. Satisfied that there was enough room for her in his bedroom for the belongings she had there, he carried her bags from the living room and placed them on the floor near his bed. That could be taken care of later in the morning.

 

He quickly changed into his pajamas and crawled into bed. He didn’t have to wait long for Molly to edge into his bedroom, placing her clothes that she was wearing before near her bag. She shyly peered at Sherlock, and he couldn’t help the warmth that spread through his body. He pulled back his blanket and said, “Please.”

 

Molly made her way to his bed and he smiled as she slipped beneath the blankets and rolled to her side, looking at him.

 

“This is different from our bolt-hole bed sharing.”

 

“How so?” Sherlock asked, turning onto his side.

 

“You love me now.”

 

“I loved you then,” he said, brow furrowing. The wide smile that took over her features could have brightened the room.

 

This time, Sherlock couldn’t help himself and he kissed her gently. When he pulled away, Molly stretched over and pressed a kiss to his cheek before settling into bed and closing her eyes.

 

Sherlock spent most of the night listening to her breathe.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I've been stumped with writers block and I'm just now recovering. This chapter has been a major work in progress, and I finally finished the labor of love this morning. Thank you for reading and sticking by me with this guy!

Several weeks passed by uneventfully. Molly had taken a few days off of work to rest and prepare for working under new stresses; Mycroft instilled several men into St. Bart’s as interns and maintenance men and women, and they always worked the same shifts as Molly. John and Mary had a new maintenance man at the clinic as well, and Lestrade had the least amount of watching, seeing as how he worked at Scotland Yard, surrounded by officers for most of the day. He had men watching over his small flat when he was alone, but he mostly fended for himself.

 

Molly had taken Tom’s involvement in the murder of her cat quite hard, at first not believing that he could be that cruel. And as far as Tom’s involvement went, he knew exactly _nothing_. He was contacted by a stranger and never met them in person. The stranger convinced Tom that while he had been engaged to Molly, she had been unfaithful several times with Sherlock. It didn’t take much more to convince Tom to commit revenge against his former fiancée and accept the substantial monetary compensation; needless to say, he was devastated when he found out Molly had been faithful to him and he committed the heinous crime against Toby misinformed.

 

Sherlock refused to admit it, but he was thankful for Mycroft’s willingness to make sure his friends were safe and handling Tom’s interrogation quickly. Molly didn’t hesitate to make his brother a basket of treats, giving them to her new “intern” at the end of her shift to deliver to his boss.

 

\-----

 

“Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock opened his eyes, aware that he had drifted off to sleep instead of going through his Mind Palace like he intended. He glanced at his watch on his wrist, wincing at the time. It was 2:02 in the morning, and he was exhausted.

 

“Yes?” he said, turning his head to look at Molly. She had set up camp at the desk in the living room, working on paperwork. She had on a pair of headphones and had been listening to her dictations of autopsies she completed earlier that day.

 

“Why don’t you go to bed? I’ll be in in about an hour. I just have a bit to finish.”

 

Sherlock frowned, but Molly smiled at him. “It’s alright. If I need anything, I’ll call you.” She waved her phone at him, and he sighed, removing his own phone from his pocket and turning up the sound. “I know you’re tired and you don’t actually sleep when you lay down at night with me.”

 

“Well…” Sherlock said, not having an excuse; if he went to sleep, there might by the chance of someone getting into the flat. He was most vulnerable sleeping. He sat up slowly, ruffling his hair. He stood up after a moment and walked a bit unsteadily towards Molly. He pressed a kiss to her temple and murmured, “Goodnight.”

 

“Goodnight. And I’ll be fine, promise.”

 

\-----

 

Sherlock woke to the sound of his phone ringing. He was disoriented and it took him a few moments to answer his phone. “Hello?” he said gruffly.

 

“Sherlock! It’s Mrs. Turner from next door.”

 

“Mrs. Turner?” he asked, sitting up in bed slowly.

 

“Martha told me to call. She just snuck over. She said someone broke into her flat, but she managed to get out through her bedroom window! She’s on the phone with the police right now!”

 

“Thank you Mrs. Turner,” Sherlock said, before hanging up and jumping out of bed. He crept out of his bedroom and paused at the end of the hallway, listening. He could hear movement coming from the floor below, but he didn’t want to alert the people who were currently breaking and entering that he was awake.

 

He removed his mobile from his robe pocket and turned down the sound. Then he sent a text to Molly that simply said, _‘Hide.’_

 

He peeked around the corner and watched as Molly mouthed along to her dictation as she wrote. When her mobile buzzed, she paused the recording on her computer and read her text message. He was pleased with how calmly she took out her ear buds, closed her computer, slunk onto the floor, and crawled across the room to the sofa.

 

What amazed him even more was that she managed to squeeze herself between the wall and sofa. From his vantage point, the living room looked empty.

 

But it wasn’t for long.

 

Two men entered the sitting room from the stairs, and Sherlock dashed into the kitchen, not making a sound. He stood by the door that also led to the stairs, and paused for just a moment.

 

From the sounds of it, there were only two men in the flat.

 

He could take them on easily.

 

Before he stepped out onto the landing, he grabbed a frying pain from the sink. Then he followed the men into his own flat.

 

The first man he took down was easy. One blow to the back of the head knocked him out cold.

 

The unfortunate thing was that the second man was alerted to Sherlock’s presence and spun around startled, not prepared to fight. Sherlock dropped the pan, and a scuffle ensued, Sherlock taking down the man after a few quick punches were delivered to his face.

 

“Don’t move,” Sherlock called out to Molly before dashing to the kitchen and rummaging through drawers. He returned with a roll of twine and easily began tying the men up. As he was finishing, the second intruder was beginning to come to. Sherlock grimaced when he spit blood from his mouth, groaning in pain.

 

“All we were ‘sposed to do was deliver a message. The hell are you doing up at this hour, mate?” The man said irritatingly, glaring up at Sherlock. The distant sound of sirens in the distance caused the man to twist towards the door, his eyes widening in horror.

 

“I’m not your mate,” Sherlock said, irritation and disdain evident in his voice. “And what is your message? You obviously don’t have all day. The police will be here soon to collect your despicable excuse of a common criminal from my floor.”

 

The man returned his narrowed gaze back to Sherlock. “You’re doing a shit job at appeasing me and gathering the message.”

 

“I’m sure the torture techniques used in interrogation will have you spilling the beans, so to speak, quite quickly.”

 

“The coppers don’t torture!”

 

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, I made an error,” Sherlock said, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels. “The police will be collecting you, yes, but you will be delivered into the hands of the most powerful man in the British Government, and he doesn’t take lightly when people threaten me.”

 

The man sneered at Sherlock, but he was able to see the criminal was wary of the situation he got himself in. “Fine, fine,” he grumbled, wincing when Sherlock crouched down in front of him and tilted his head back by his hair. His grip tightened just a bit, and the criminal grunted. “I was just supposed to tell your missus that lives here that an old friend of yours is taking care of business and I was plannin’ on roughin’ her up a bit for emphasis. Lucky you were up, then.”

 

“You have made several grievous errors just now,” Sherlock said, twisting his hand in his hair. “First, you were misinformed; I have no “ _missus_ ” that lives here, just my landlady. Second, you have threatened to harm what doesn’t belong to you. Third, you were idiot enough to take a small amount of money to commit a crime that was hardly worth the effort. And finally, you have revealed information about your boss. Surely if you aren’t killed during the interrogation, he will waste no time in keeping you alive.”

 

Sherlock stood to his feet and delivered a swift kick to his face just as the door downstairs opened.

 

\-----

 

“John, can you grab that blanket on the back of your chair, please?” Molly whispered.

 

John Watson nodded his head and got the blanket Molly wanted. Without being asked, he unfolded it and spread it out over the sleeping Consulting Detective whose head was resting in her lap. He was supposed to be in his Mind Palace, but by his deep, steady, even breaths, it was obvious that he had fallen asleep.

 

“He’s only been sleeping a few hours every couple of days. I think he feels that I’m a bit safer with you and Mary in the flat watching over things.” Molly continued running her fingers through his hair, hoping that would help keep him asleep. “Thanks for coming over, by the way. Mycroft only stayed long enough to ensure that we weren’t in danger and to collect the men who were supposed to be watching the flat.”

 

“It’s fine,” John said, dropping into his chair. A few minutes later, Mary entered the living room carrying a tray with tea. “Thanks Mary,” he said, taking the offered cup and drinking from it deeply. “This is complete madness.”

 

“It is,” Molly said, frowning over her own cup of tea. Mary sat down in Sherlock’s chair, nursing a cup of water. “At least Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Turner were able to give us warning or things could have been much worse.”

 

John grunted and set his tea aside. “What is it they wanted? Sherlock hardly said two words to me when we got here.”

 

Molly shrugged her shoulders. “The man needed to deliver a message to me; rough me up and warn me that not everything is as it seems or something cryptic like that. I was hiding behind the sofa and couldn’t hear much.” Molly waved her hand dismissively. “But Sherlock is 100 percent certain that we are dealing with…not Moriarty. Moriarty never got his hands dirty, and so far this person has personally gotten himself involved with three people and has made no attempts of killing them off.”

 

“So we’re dealing with someone who is just a tad bit smarter than the average criminal and probably accidently threatened England?” Mary said warily. When Molly nodded her head, she laughed bitterly. “At least this idiot managed to save Sherlock from a six month tour in Eastern Europe and then who knows what!”

 

Molly couldn’t help but smile in relief, looking down at Sherlock fondly. “Yeah, thank God for that.” She sipped at her tea, happy to have a fresh brew. It was nearing 5:00 in the morning, and she needed the caffeine. “If you’re tired,” Molly said, looking over at John and Mary, “You can take our bed. Sherlock won’t be getting off the sofa for a bit, and even then, I doubt he’ll go to bed.”

 

After exchanging glances, Mary nodded her head, struggling to get out of Sherlock’s seat. “I’ll take advantage of that.”

 

When things settled in the living room, John sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Did the robber say anything else?”

 

“Actually,” Molly said, setting aside her empty cup. “He did say something…odd. He said his boss was an old friend of Sherlock’s.”

 

John snorted, shaking his head. “You and I both know Sherlock does not have any old friends.” He stood up and gathered the various cups and mugs littering the living room, leaving Molly’s tea. “I’m going to grab a few hours of sleep while I can. Do you need anything?”

 

Molly shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Goodnight.”

 

“Goodnight.”

 

When all was quiet in the flat, Molly looked down at her sleeping Consulting Detective and stroked his cheeks, hoping that he would be able to rest for a few more hours before tackling what would most likely be his most difficult case in months, especially if it really was Moriarty. Even though Sherlock was positive it wasn’t the dead Consulting Criminal, Molly couldn’t help but disagree.

 

Whoever it was, she was hoping Sherlock, John, and Mycroft would be able to take care of this situation swiftly and safely.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


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